First Meeting
by TaffyButt
Summary: In which Mycroft confesses to admiring Lestrade from afar. Mystrade slash.
1. Chapter 1

Detective Inspector Lestrade stared blankly at the road from the passenger's seat of Anderson's car. He had just finished a graveyard shift and had been forced to work all day as well, working on a case which had stumped Scotland Yard. Now, at nine o'clock at night, he was heading to baker Street to ask for Sherlock's help. Greg looked at his phone. A text from Sherlock:

'Come soon. I have new details. –SH'

Anderson dropped him off and wished him a sarcastic good luck before driving away, leaving Greg alone and at peace with his thoughts, for at least five minutes, before he would be forced to plead for help and then listen to Sherlock ramble on, getting to the point of the matter only when it suited him.

Mrs Hudson was walking out as he approached the door, and she let him in and then left to go next door without saying much to him. Lestrade opened the door to 221b, but was met with darkness. He called out, for John first and then Sherlock, before switching on one of the lamps by the comfier of the two chairs in the centre of the living room.

As he shifted to adjust the little patriotic pillow, he thought he heard movement. Staying completely still, he paced his breath and focused on listening to the silence within the flat. Shuffles and creaks echoed through the rooms, but he couldn't pinpoint an exact location. It was probably just the walls and floorboards adjusting to the cool air of the night.

He couldn't shake the feeling though that someone was there with him, hiding in the darkness of the other rooms in the flat, watching him. Greg turned his head swiftly and the side of his cheek caught something solid, forcing him to turn back around quick enough for him to hurt his neck.

"Now, now Detective Lestrade…I'm not sure I want to reveal my identity quite yet."

The voice was strong and almost charmingly guttural, resounding in the back of its owners throat. From the corner of his eye he could see that the long object dictating his ability to turn was an umbrella.

"Who are you…does Sherlock know you're here…or John?" He asked anxiously, not expecting a reply, but trying to seem like he was in control of the situation.

"My dear brother doesn't kno-" Greg cut the stranger's voice off not intentionally, but because he couldn't contain the question.

"Your brother!" Of course, Lestrade had already figured out the stranger was referring to Sherlock. John had talked about his sister Harry a lot to Greg on the many occasions they had been out together for coffee.

"He doesn't necessarily talk about me…there's a small sibling feud between us."

"Oh what, was he the favourite…steal one of your toys perhaps?" Lestrade questioned, jokingly, but warily so…the stranger could be lying to him after all.

"Not quite…although he never was one for sharing. Always playing in his room alone with his little chemistry sets, looking through his books, favouring the macabre whilst I was…the more social of the two."

DI Lestrade was almost convinced of the stranger's identity. That solitary child he described did sound like Sherlock.

"My name is Mycroft Holmes. I hold a…minor position in the British Government. I have been watching you, Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade."

"How…how have you been watching me? And what do you mean you're part of the government? Are you one of my bosses?"

"Ha…I suppose I am. In fact, you could say that I'm everyone's boss." Mycroft chuckled and walked around to face Gregg whose nails were digging into the arms of John's chair. The stranger did resemble Sherlock in a way. Tall, mysterious, sharply dressed. However, unlike Sherlock, he held himself with a certain acquired authority as opposed to Sherlock's self-appointed importance. Pinstripe suit, polished pocket watch, pristine shoes, and what looked like a particularly expensive umbrella in his hands. It had been an umbrella then.

"Perhaps I'm being too forward," Mycroft said, in a softer tone, "but I am not one to shirk away from any arising problems…and you certainly are a problem of mine."

"Why me?…How do you even know about me?"

"You converse on an almost weekly basis with my brother, detective, I keep my eyes, and the eyes of thousands of government workers, on you and everyone else who has the misfortune to frequent his company at all times. The more I watch, the more I am intrigued."

"What else do you know about me then?" Greg asked, out of curiosity and fear. He noticed that Mycroft had clearly excelled socially, much more so than Sherlock, and he was so charming. Lestrade could feel himself becoming more and more comfortable in the room, despite his compromising situation.

"I know where you live, I know your favourite place to eat, your coffee order, your workmates, and all the secrets and dislikes that come with them, I know that despite the way you appear frustrated by my brother that you find him to be magnificent, I know that you're gay, I know that you're single and have been for months but you haven't put yourself out there because you're afrai-" once again Mycroft was cut off by Greg's apparent inability to know when it was his turn to speak.

"I'm not gay! Well, I am, but…how did you know…no one knows." At this his head dropped and looked to the floor. Thoughts were spinning and he grew tense again, understanding finally just how weak he was in this situation.

"What do you want from me?" he asked Mycroft, knowing that his acquisition of this information should only mean he was trying to get something from Lestrade.

"I only want one thing detective. You."

At this Lestrade looked up again, his large brown eyes gazing into Mycroft's intense stare with a mix of confusion and instantaneous lust. Truly, Mycroft was most definitely more charming than his little brother.

Gregg was shaken from his thoughts as he felt something against his chest. Looking down he could see the silver tip of the umbrella, tracing up his shirt, and gently prodding his chest. He could feel himself getting more aroused, despite his best efforts to dismiss the charms of Mycroft Holmes. This wasn't what Lestrade did; he wasn't one to come to such terms with strangers, even people whom he'd met a few times before. The last relationship he was in had been four years long, and he'd known Nicholas for 3 years before they committed to each other. His chest pounded and he tried to form the word no…or any word. Only being able to form a pathetic pout before he was knocked reeling from his thoughts.

Mycroft leaned forward faster than Lestrade could react to and pushed his lips against his, tenderly, and yet with a subtle hint of aggression and longing. Despite his previous best efforts to fight his growing arousal, Lestrade gave into the temptation and returned the kiss.

Once both men were fully engrossed in each other's mouths, Mycroft gently licked Greg's lips, trying to push through. Greg parted his lips and gently ran his tongue along the tip of Mycroft's.


	2. Chapter 2

He had watched from a black car until he was sure Sherlock and John had left and checked his phone. One of his assistants had sent him news of Sherlock's latest case, and given the details, he assumed that the consulting detective and his army doctor might not even be back until morning. This would be an adequate amount of time for him to complete his task. Picking up his phone he started a new text message:

'Come soon. I have new details. –SH'

Mycroft Holmes smiled at his driver, who smiled back at him from the rear view mirror. Opening the door he stepped out onto the street in front of Speedy's, his umbrella and freshly polished shoes clicking down onto the ground in sync.

Stepping lightly but with purpose towards the door of Sherlock's flat he smiled to himself. The black car pulled away as he produced his spare key to the flat and let himself inside. Once he was in the hall, he was greeted by Mrs Hudson. To avoid all confrontation he simply told her Sherlock was waiting on him and that he had given him a spare key ("You know how lazy my brother can be Mrs Hudson!") and she let him go, slightly flustered and halfway through a myriad of sentences as Mycroft stalked up the stairs, still smiling. He could hear Mrs Hudson talking to herself about hearing things, thinking that her boys had already left when he stepped inside of 221b Baker Street.

One solitary lamp was on, and he shifted over to it awkwardly, trying to decide whether or not to leave it on or turn it off, to plunge the flat into empty darkness so as to better hide himself. In the end, he flicked it off quickly, walking backwards a few paces to stand in the kitchen and await his visitor.

It didn't take long at all before his plan fell into action. Standing silently, feeling awkward and slightly uncomfortable with his predatory stance, he shifted from foot to foot, waiting patiently.

He had heard the door open, and watched, his eyes already accustomed to the dark, as Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade made his way into the living room. The detective called out for John and then Sherlock, which struck Mycroft as particularly odd. He did what Mycroft had hoped he would, turning on the lamp and sitting down in John's seat. This was when Mycroft made his move.

Lestrade shifted slightly in the chair, adjusting the little Union Jack pillow as Mycroft took his first step forward. A floorboard creaked and Lestrade sat upright, frozen. For a brief moment, Mycroft feared that he had blown his cover, that he had just ruined his chance with the man he had coveted for so long. Who he had wasted thousands of pounds of the country's money and hours of the British Government's time following and researching. Who he had spent night after night lusting after as he sat alone in his own home. Greg Lestrade, the man he was going to make his own.

Mycroft had managed to stay still and silent enough to allow Greg to settle down again. This time, he moved with precision, holding his umbrella just off the floor, picking up pace as the adrenaline took control of him and he made his way over to Lestrade.

Another floorboard creaked, but Mycroft was quick enough and lifted the umbrella up to the side of Lestrade's face, so as to constrict his movement. He stood for a moment, allowing Lestrade to collect himself and after a few minutes of conversation Mycroft decided he'd had enough.

By the time the lust became all-consuming, he was standing directly in front of Lestrade, staring at him, taking in every inch of his body, noting the vulnerable position the inspector was in. Mycroft was unsure how the rest of this would go, but he was sure that he would be the one to initiate it, and he'd have to start off just right otherwise he'd face rejection.

Watching Lestrade stare at the floor in confusion, Mycroft picked up the umbrella and pressed it against Lestrade's chest, dominating the situation, holding him, pinning him against the chair but not putting too much pressure on it so as to give the option of moving away. Since Lestrade didn't shift he traced the buttons up and down.

As Lestrade looked up from the floor pouting his lips and his large brown eyes glistening and shining in the dim light, Mycroft Holmes leaned in and kissed the man he had been fixated on for months on end.

Mycroft worried for a moment that he perhaps been too forward, until he felt the other man's lips press against his own, returning the favour. Since he was now sure that the feelings were reciprocated, Mycroft flicked his tongue over Greg's bottom lip and then ran it along his top, pleading for entry to his mouth. After a few seconds, Greg parted his moist lips and opened his mouth wide for a full on kiss from the charming Mycroft Holmes.


	3. Chapter 3

Both men savoured each other's mouths, gently sucking and nibbling on the other's lips and tongue. Lestrade could feel himself getting carried away with the moment and reached for Mycroft's head, running his strong hands through the soft hair. He'd never done anything like this before, and he tried to hold himself back, but the adrenaline fought this, spurring him on.

Mycroft himself could feel his crotch throbbing in his pinstripe trousers as he threw his umbrella to the floor and put his hand gently round the back of Greg's neck, the other hand on his chest, holding him down into the chair. His fingers scrunched through folds of fabric, itching to tear the shirt off of the detective, to claim his skin, feel it soft against his fingertips, touching the other man's toned torso.

Greg himself could feel the tension rising, heat flooding and blood rushing into his groin. As he felt himself harden, the hunger took over him and he cupped his hand around Mycroft's very evident erection. The strangeness of it all only pushed him further and he put pressure on to Mycroft with his palm, fingers gently rubbing in small circular motions.

This stirred some of Mycroft's raw, sexual energy and he rather aggressively pulled at Greg's shirt, bursting it open, ripping it at the collar. The fabric burnt Lestrade's neck, but the pain was forgotten almost instantly when Mycroft roared his name out loud in a fit of sudden passion, causing physical pain to his heart as it began to beat at a pace he thought medically impossible.

Grunts and moans pushed their way from the two men's throats as Lestrade forced himself out of the chair onto an unsuspecting Mycroft who fell to the floor, arms wrapped round Lestrade's strong back. He pushed his long, thin legs between Greg's, pressing his thigh against the detective inspector's crotch whilst beginning to pull the suit jacket and shirt off of him.

Lestrade took it upon himself to start undressing Mycroft. As he undid the buttons one by one he ran his hand through the tuft of chest hair, his finger trailing over Mycroft's nipples, causing him to buck his hips further towards Greg's.

Once the Holmes brother was shirtless, and Greg himself was stripped of his jacket and shirt, he turned his attention to the rest of Mycroft's clothes. Leaving trails of kisses down his throat and across his chest, he ran his tongue down his stomach, fingering the zip of the smart trousers, pulling it down and releasing some of the tension and pressure pushing down on Mycroft's crotch.

The detective's fingers lingered over the soft silk of Mycroft's underwear, before slipping one of them under the band and pulling them down, slowly slipping them over his throbbing crotch. He almost audibly gasped when he was given the pleasure of seeing the entire length of the British government, springing free. His mouth began to water, and Lestrade suddenly realised how desperately he wanted this and how thoroughly aroused he was.

A sudden burst of adrenaline rushed through him and he growled as he threw his head down to take the whole of Mycroft in his mouth. As the head hit the back of his throat he gagged, and Mycroft let out a loud, strained "Fuck…."clearly unconcerned about keeping up his dominant stance. He pulled sharply on the detective's hair, forcing him to stop what he was doing so the two were looking into each other's eyes.

Mycroft loosened the grip on Greg's hair as the detective pulled himself on top, smirking with intense pleasure as Greg positioned himself, eyes closing tight when Mycroft bucked his hips and pushed himself inside.

Greg let out a pained groan, but lowered himself onto Mycroft once again, slowly, before rising and lowering slightly faster. Mycroft moved with the rhythm, throwing his hands to Gregg's hips and pulling him down faster, harder, the slaps echoing round the empty room. The detective lowered his head to Mycroft's neck and gently bit along the freckled skin, running his tongue round and over his throat; his moans vibrating through Mycroft's body.

"Greg…" This and a few breathy moans were all he let out before he felt the release let himself relax against the floor. Greg screamed in pleasure as their orgasms came to a shuddering halt together. He barely had time to relax before Mycroft was up and getting dressed, collecting his umbrella and composing himself, smoothing down his suit jacket. He smiled softly at the detective, who lay confused on the floor still catching his breath.

"I'll be in touch." He left without saying another word. Greg slowly stood up, wiping the sweat from his brow and trying to clean up the mess they made. He had only just put his clothes on when he heard the door of the flat open. Greg ran his hand through his hair and put on his best smile before getting back to work.


End file.
